


embrace the point of no return

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Buddy comedy, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Pre-Season/Series 12, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:50:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Crowley go hunting.<br/>Pre-season 12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	embrace the point of no return

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from [cinnamisha-roll](http://cinnamisha-roll.tumblr.com/) on tumblr: "actually I was thinking about the possibility of Crowstiel in season 12, since both of them will be hunting Lucifer down, what would be your take on that ? (bromance or romance, whatever you prefer)."  
> Rebloggable version on [tumblr here](http://ozonecologne.tumblr.com/post/148178097623/ha-actually-i-was-thinking-about-the-possibility)

The air, saturated with moisture, folds out around him as he pops into existence along the coastline. Clouds pepper the cliff side, where sheep graze lazily despite the rumbling threat of a storm. The nearby church looks on passively; the gravestones are silent at his back.

A figure stands alone facing the sea, but it isn’t the one that Castiel was looking for.

“My mother told me I reminded her too much of this place,” Crowley says. His voice loses its rough timbre among the waves and the wind.

Castiel approaches slowly, hands in his pockets, discreetly thumbing at his concealed blade. 

“You couldn’t look more out of place,” he informs him. 

It’s true; Crowley’s typical black suit stands out against the soft grays of the horizon, the vibrant green of the cliffs. Gravel-riddled mud splatters his nice dress shoes. Castiel notices that his tie has been pulled loose, that his shirt has been unbuttoned a few inches.

Crowley snorts, but he doesn’t turn to look Castiel in the eye.

“Come to kill me then?” he asks, as if the notion amuses him. “Now that our little truce has expired. Who sent you anyway? Mummy? The moose?”

“No,” Castiel says neutrally. “I have loftier goals than scum like you.”

“Do you now?” Crowley asks, finally turning. Shadows cover hollows in his face in ways they never have before. His beard has grown in more, unruly and peppered with gray. “That’s a relief. Was worried you’d lost the will to live for a minute there. Nice to see you out and about again,” Crowley teases.

Castiel doesn’t answer. He looks past Crowley’s shoulder at a point on the water.

“In fact,” Crowley continues, “With Dean gone, I’m surprised you aren’t completely beside yourself.”

Castiel can’t help the way his chest puffs out. “Dean isn’t dead,” he preens. “Chuck and Amara spared him before they left together.”

Behind his skin, Crowley’s face… changes. The red smoke that makes up his essence brightens a shade, and his edges wriggle and curl in a way that could almost be happy if it happened to anyone else.

“Well I do so love happy endings,” he says.

The joke doesn’t land on Cas the way he’d hoped it would. He knows. He chooses not to say anything about it now.

“I was tracking Lucifer. Remnants of his grace led me here,” Castiel says instead.

Crowley ticks his head regretfully. “That’s only me, I’m afraid. Still got traces of it on me after he manipulated me in Hell. Stuck his hooks in me very well.”

Castiel sighs. Just what he needed: another useless detour. “You’ll need to come with me then.”

The answer is curt and steady. “No.”

“It’s pulling me,” Castiel stresses. “What little is left in my vessel strains to be reunited with Lucifer’s core. And it’s in you, too. If both of us can search together – ”

Crowley cuts him off. “I said no. I learned my lesson – I admit it, I overreached. I already lost and I have no leverage anymore. No kingdom, no power left after the court raided my soul stash. There isn’t a safe place left for me in the world. I’m staying right here,” Crowley informs him.

Castiel frowns. He leans on anger to provoke him. “Lucifer _humiliated_ you. You’re just going to let that go?”

Crowley only scoffs. “You aren’t exactly in a position to lecture me on sticking up for myself, _Castiel_.”

That cuts him deep. He’s still ashamed of his conduct over the last year, and he really doesn’t need the reminder from someone who truly hates him.

Crowley pounces.

“I was there, remember? In your sad little mind. That poor imitation of a home. You’d completely given up. The only time you even resembled your old self was when Lucifer was possessing you.”

Suddenly, Crowley is pinned up against the outer wall of the church, facing the gravestones. An invisible vice squeezes around his neck, and Castiel surges forward into his face, grace writhing and boiling behind his eyes. Crowley smiles as blood vessels pop at his temples.

“Don’t you _dare_ compare me to him, Hellspawn,” Castiel hisses.

Crowley laughs in his face.

The teeth in Castiel’s jaw grind together as he attempts to collect himself. Quell his anger.

“We’ve worked together before,” Castiel spits, almost desperately.

“And you stabbed me in the back,” Crowley wheezes.

Castiel’s hold loosens minutely on his neck and he narrows his eyes. “You’ve got nothing to lose now.”

Crowley hesitates. Flexes his hands against the worn wood of the church. 

“True.”

In the next instant, they’re gone.

 

With Lucifer’s grace buzzing in them both, Castiel follows the faint yearning pulling them to its source. He knows this feeling, this longing for wholeness, the shivering shakiness of being stretched thin across the plane. He almost feels bad for Lucifer. For all his years staying locked away, he was never without himself. It’s the one pain he was spared.

“I imagine this must be hard for you,” Crowley says. They’ve flown to the North Western United States, searching for any trail that Lucifer may have left behind after Amara expelled him from Castiel’s vessel. They’ve traced it to a forest in Washington.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, just as he was taught, peering around at the greenery.

“Not, like, emotionally,” Crowley sneers, waving his hand. He steps carefully over a rotting log as they head deeper into the trees. “You were practically limp the last time I saw you.”

“My grace has recovered from Lucifer’s hold,” Castiel says. “I’ve got all my mojo back.”

Crowley nods, and Castiel turns to inspect his face after placing a hand on the trunk of a recently scarred tree. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Aren’t you still…?” Castiel waves his hand like Crowley had a moment ago.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “At full capacity too, such as it is.”

Castiel nods. “Good. Well, not really. But – ”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Crowley says.

Castiel clears his throat. “You know, I’m doing you a favor by letting you live.”

Crowley concedes. “Not too long ago you were hunting me down.”

Castiel winces, doesn’t like to remember that time under Rowena’s spell. “I was being compelled.”

“Unlike now, right?” Crowley’s tone bites accusatorially into Castiel’s weak spots, the doubt in himself.

Castiel can’t puzzle that out. His tone. “If you’ve got something to say – ”

“It’s your stupid sense of duty!” Crowley shouts. “Why do you feel the need to stir shit up like this, you bloody moron? Just let things lie! Move on!”

Castiel clenches his fists and hunches in on himself. “Lucifer cannot be allowed to exist in this world,” he growls.

Crowley slumps against the tree. The fight drains out of him. Once he’s made up his mind, Castiel won’t rest until his task has been carried out.

“Why not just ask Daddy for help?” he asks wearily.

He wants to go home. He wants to go back to the quiet no-name pastures of his human life and hide between the raindrops while he recovers from his curse of immortality.

Castiel hesitates. Trails his fingers slowly along the ridges in the bark before dropping his hand altogether. A shadow passes over his eyes. “He’s gone now. He won’t help.”

Crowley squints at him and pushes off the tree. “You didn’t speak to him at all. Not in the bunker. Not in the bar.”

“There was a lot going on,” Castiel replies.

Crowley shakes his head, fixated. “No, you shut off. Pissed at him?”

Castiel grits his teeth.

Crowley raises his eyebrows. “Ashamed, maybe?”

Castiel swallows hard, and drops his eyes to the ground. He’s too proud to say it aloud.

He can feel it as well as Castiel can; there’s nothing here anymore. “Lucifer’s long gone. Let’s go.”

Crowley just hangs on for the ride.

 

The trail goes cold just south of the forest. They pick it up again outside of Minneapolis: one big push.  Lucifer is wounded, limping, and grounded. He’s taken a vessel to hide himself and to heal – he could be anywhere, and finding him is going to be a lot harder now that his grace has concealed itself.

Crowley shrugs. “Seems like everyone’s had the same idea.”

Castiel growls. “That coward,” he hisses, ostensibly to no one. “We have to get moving, we’re already too far behind. The time to strike is now, while he’s still weak.”

Crowley eyes the little town in the distance. He’d love to sit down and eat something, maybe. He’s feeling a little… empty. What Castiel says registers and he responds with a frown.

“You’re not going to try and reason with him?” he asks with surprise. “Maybe he’s changed now that he’s gotten his closure with God. Going in poised for the kill isn’t your style.”

In the next instant, they’re on a road. They’re in a car. Crowley doesn’t know where they’re headed, what they’re chasing exactly other than a hint or a wish.

Castiel squeezes his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel. “You aren’t the only one entitled to your revenge,” he hisses.

Crowley scoffs and shifts so he can brace his knees on the dashboard. “Pft, alright,” he baits. “You’re the one who let him out in the first place. You brought this on yourself.”

“Only so I could spare – ”

Bingo.

Castiel clamps his lips shut. Crowley smirks.

“Ah, so that’s it, isn’t it,” he murmurs. “You took on Lucifer so Sam wouldn’t have to.”

Castiel breathes deep.

“Because you know he would have, the self-sacrificing bastard,” Crowley adds.

Castiel slumps his shoulders. “And if he’s still out there, he’ll go looking for Sam again,” he murmurs. “I did that. I put Sam in danger, more than anyone else.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Crowley says firmly, because it's obvious. “Sam’s the one who went down to the Cage in the first place. He didn’t wait for back up.”

Castiel wavers. “His intentions were good.”

Crowley throws his head back against the headrest. “Jesus, will you just stop?” he snaps.  He clicks on the car radio and turns his head to watch the scenery roll past the window. From the road signs he can figure out that they’re on their way to Cleveland. He tells himself that he’s only getting so angry because it isn’t fair that the Winchesters get away with so much. 

It’s not because something as impossibly good as Castiel is still getting the shit kicked out of him. It’s not.

They sit like that in silence for a long time, like any other two people on a road trip.

“Look,” he finally says, during an ad for a local cleaning service. “I understand your loyalty to the Winchesters. They do grow on you,” he admits. “But their bad decisions aren’t your responsibility. You’d be much happier if you just got that through your thick skull.”

Castiel scoffs, quick and mean and rude. “So I can end up like you? Weak and hated? Friendless, alone? They _need_ me. They need me to do these things for them.”

Crowley doesn’t answer. He hangs his head and sighs quietly.

“You’re a moron, angel.”

The words are just sad.

 

He’s so envious. This stupid thing – Castiel – he has loyalty, he’s got protection and a place to call his, someone to belong to, and he doesn’t even get it. He runs as far away as possible from them every chance he gets to prove himself just so he gets to keep them. He’s so utterly brainless. Crowley has never had much of a tolerance for idiots.

They stop at a rest station so Crowley can finally get something to eat. Castiel just looks annoyed at the request, but becomes contemplative when Crowley returns with a Snickers bar.

“You looked pleased when I told you that Dean had survived,” he says.

Crowley chews. The nuts in the candy bar get stuck in the grooves of his teeth.

“How long have you been sitting on that one?”

Castiel waits for him to speak instead of answering.

“It’s the Sam blood lingering in me,” Crowley tries after a minute. “Makes me all weepy for him.”

He just can’t resist. He is a bad guy, after all. He’s supposed to push his buttons. “Or maybe I’m just fondly remembering our special time together.”

Castiel doesn’t look at him as he starts the car, but his lip curls. “Great.”

“Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t rub it in a little.”

“Mm,” Castiel grunts.

Crowley very nearly smiles.

“You care about them,” Castiel accuses. “You help them when they ask.”

“Those days are over.”

“They don’t have to be.”

Crowley scoffs. “I’m not going back. I’m off the grid now, and I’m stockpiling weapons until the next apocalypse. That’s the end of it.”

Castiel moves as if to face him, but he goes ramrod straight in the next second, uncomfortably still and staring into nothing.

Crowley recognizes the look. “Angel hotline?” he asks.

Castiel nods, dazedly. Still half-listening. “He’s praying.”

“Ah,” Crowley says. He crumbles up the Snickers wrapper and tosses it into the backseat. They’re almost to Chicago.

“What’s he want?” Crowley adds.

“A lot of things. None of which he’ll actually ask for,” Castiel mutters.

He leans his elbow on the car door and sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He zones out again, watching the lines in the road get swallowed up underneath the chassis of their stolen car. Conflict is clear on his face.

It occurs to Crowley for the very first time that Castiel doesn’t actually want to be here. He doesn’t want to haul his ass all over God’s creation to wrangle his dick of a brother into submission with someone he hates; he probably wants to get off the radar just as badly as Crowley does. After everything they’ve been through, it wouldn’t surprise him is all.

Castiel glances over at Crowley as if he’d forgotten he was even there. He straightens and drops his hand. Abandons the weary gesture. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” he apologizes.

Crowley nods. “So he wants you to give this up too.”

“Yes.”

Crowley purses his lips. “Then why are you still here?”

Castiel glares at him. “Crowley. You know why. And if I won’t, no one will.”

And he… well. He chews on it. Thinks for a while. He doesn’t think he’s going to do it, he doesn’t think he can make himself say the words, but he thinks about his last feeble attempt to build a family of his own and he thinks about all the emptiness he’s got to look forward to and his voice feels hoarse even now from shouting in that church _I just want to be loved_ and –

“I will,” he says.

Castiel blinks. Takes his foot off the gas pedal. “Excuse me?” he says.

Crowley sighs. Yes, he really did that. He really made the offer. Damn. “God, don’t make me say it again, alright? I’ve got Lucifer’s scent. Go home. I’ve got it.”

The car rolls to a stop in the middle of the road. There’s no one around for miles. Castiel stares at him, and Crowley doesn’t stare back.

“How do I know you won’t…?” Castiel asks, trailing off.

“Betray you? Lie? Fail?” Crowley fills in for him. “I guess you don’t. You’ve got nothing but the word of someone with nothing to lose.”

Castiel is quiet.

Crowley fidgets.

“And maybe… Maybe I really do like happy endings.”

Castiel finally turns to look at him. He doesn’t really know what it looks like when a demon tells the truth, but maybe the softness in the lines at the corners of his eyes, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the vulnerable spread to his knees, maybe those make him trust one for a minute.

Crowley turns to look at him with red eyes. Laying himself bare in honest vulnerability. He says, “Go home, Cas.” 

 _While you can,_ he doesn’t say. _While you have one._

So Castiel closes his eyes, and he does just that.

 

It’s deathly silent in the car as Crowley slides over the center console and into the driver’s seat. There isn’t a trace of warmth left in it, as if Castiel had never even been there at all. He wouldn’t put it past himself just to have made him up for company.

He taps each finger on the wheel, one by one by one, and slowly leans on the gas, hunting down the devil.

 _You were right,_ he thinks. He hopes that these wayward thoughts find the angel safely, and that they’ll never get the chance to be held against him.

 _I do care about the Winchesters. A little bit. And I do mean_ all _of them._

He exhales, and clicks on the radio.


End file.
